


Mochas and Murder

by activatethetightpants



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Coffee Shops, M/M, Serial Killers, Serial Killers AU, Uhm, coffee shop AU, serial killer au, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-06 07:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1849132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/activatethetightpants/pseuds/activatethetightpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Percy attracts attention from a death-loving Nico and Nico drinks a lot of coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WOW this is either going to be really fun to write or really killer. That wasn't even meant to be a pun, but holy crap it was. 
> 
> Basically this came into being because I like serial killers and coffee a lot so this was just bound to happen. The idea was sort of inspired by this snk fic I read a while ago that I can't find for the life of me now, or I would refer you to it, as it was splendid. 
> 
> ANYWAYS. I hope you guys sorta like this a little bit. The title is so bad I can't handle it. I'm 100% changing it as soon as I think of something less lame.

            Nico sits with his earbuds in.  He sips at his coffee, watching people go by, watching mannerisms, exchanges, subconscious touches to hair, blushes of embarrassment not meant to be seen by anyone.  Nobody notices him.  He likes it that way. 

            He taps his foot softly to the slow beat of the song he’s listening to, turning the coffee cup in front of him in lazy circles on the tabletop.  He allows his senses to drink in the environment. 

            The sharp smells of espresso, tangoing beautifully with the sweet perfume of the shop’s fresh-made pastries.  The hints of a passing woman’s perfume.  Lavender and honey, with just a tiny chemical tinge.

            Over the music in his ears, he can hear the percussion of spastic, stereotypical coffee-house jazz.  The occasional shrill of the trumpet, the noisy slam on drums, maybe a throaty lyric here or there.  Music designed to have the same effect on emotions as caffeine has on the body.  Meant to invigorate, to tangle your guts into an excitable pile, to make you want to shake your shoulders and grin and snap your fingers.  To move your body.  Coffee for the ears.

            But, mostly, above all else, Nico enjoys the sense of sight.  He watches one of the baristas move about, making light conversation with the customers in a voice Nico knows was like warm caramel.  He watches him, tapping his fingers lightly on the side of his ceramic mug, and wonders how strong he is.  Not he himself, of course.  He as in the barista.  The barista who wears the cheery name tag with the cheery name _Percy!_ written on it in cheery light green chalk.  Cheery cheery cheery.

            Nico tucks his feet underneath himself and sits back further in the booth.  Across from him is an empty seat.  Beyond that, he has an excellent view of a couple, chatting and laughing over untouched cups of tea.  Out of the corner of his eye, Nico can see the barista wishing somebody a good day and sending them off with a croissant and blinding smile.

            Nico glances at his hands.  The cup rests between them, the textured surface smooth and geometrical beneath his fingers.  At the bottom of the mug was a little puddle of lukewarm coffee and a ring of melted chocolate.  Soon, he wouldn’t have much reason to lurk here.  Another gulp or two and he’d just be a weird kid sitting at a coffee shop without coffee and without a computer and without, well, _anything_ that a normal coffee shop lingerer would have.  And he’s just not sure if he’s ready to go home yet.

            He sighs and takes the last sip of his coffee, savoring the warm little burst of bittersweet flavor as it settles on his taste buds.  He sets the cup back down of the table with a soft _clink_ and nestles back into the faux leather upholstery.  He’s decided he’s not ready to leave yet.  It’s been about an hour and a half, but he’s not ready to leave yet.

            The sky’s darkened outside, casting a sort of soothing ambiance throughout the café, leaving light only to the Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling.  Nico watches one for a long moment, primarily so he won’t watch the barista any longer, and takes to doodling it on a napkin.  He’s gotten so lost in the, admittedly, subpar pen-sketch that he almost screams when a hand touches his shoulder.  He manages to get away with a squeak instead of an all-out screech.  Quickly, he goes about yanking out one of his earbuds and snapping his head up to see the cheery barista with the green chalk _Percy!_ on his nametag stifling a laugh behind his free hand.

            “Sorry,” he says, speaking melting caramel, “didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

            Nico sputters a little, working to turn down his music before abandoning the idea of even keeping it playing.  He pulls out the other earbud and fitfully runs a hand through his messy hair. “I—it’s—I.” He takes a minute to gather his thoughts before grinning pleasantly, if a little dumbly, and saying, “Wh-what do you…?” He blinks a little.  His tongue feels like it’s been coated in plaster. “Yes?”

            Percy quirks a grin and tilts his head to the side a little.  Nico can actually feel his cheeks smoldering a bright red.  Percy places a to-go cup of coffee on the table and smoothly retrieves Nico’s mug. “Just figured you might be in need of a fresh drink.” Percy smiles at him like he means the world to him.  Nico sinks further into the seat.

            “I-I didn’t…I can’t pay for this, I.  I.” He gestures at his pockets, helplessly trying to express(o) his current lack of funds.

            Percy laughs a little, and Nico tries to imagine, if his speaking voice is caramel, what his laugh is equitable to.  He decides on honey and cream and tries to push the blush out of his cheeks.

            Percy straightens up and gives Nico’s shoulder the genial shake of a person who’s used to affably invading others’ space. “It’s on the house.  Don’t worry about it.”

            Nico blinks.  He timidly reaches out and holds the cup, feeling the warmth radiate into his palms. “Th…thanks, uh…Per…Percy.” Nico squints at the nametag as he says Percy’s name, doing his best to pretend like it wasn’t already engraved in his mind.

            Percy’s grin grew a little. “Don’t mention it, Nico.”

            It takes Nico a full minute after Percy strolls back behind the counter to realize that he’d given Percy his name when he had first ordered.  Over an hour ago.  Percy had actually remembered _his_ name for that long.  He’d actually _said_ his name to him. 

Nico colors a little and recognizes that, if he stays here any longer, he’ll feel compelled to talk with Percy.  And, frankly, that’s not allowed. He needs to get out of there before he does something dumb like strike up awkward conversation.

            Nico kind of wishes the café were busier right now so his departure wouldn’t be so obvious, but he isn’t going to wait for an unlikely influx of people just so he can sneak out.  He feels he’d probably speak before then.  So he gets ready to leave.  But as he was stuffing his last book in his messenger bag, he hears melted caramel again.  

            Great.  This is the last thing he wanted Percy to notice about him.

            “Whoa.  You’ve got the _Encyclopedia of Serial Killers_?”

            This is awful embarrassing.  Nico nods a little, reluctantly pulling the book back out a little.  From the cover, the dark eyes of Aileen Wuornos and Jeffrey Dahmer cut across the café at Percy.

            Percy grins.  He abandons his post at the counter, as it’s clear nobody else will be coming in tonight, and strides back over, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. “I’ve been meaning to get a copy of that.  Second edition, right?”

            Nico raises his brows a little.  This Percy guy actually knew what he was talking about.  Nico nods a little, barely suppressing the dorkiest grin of his career of being a massive dork.  

            Percy wipes his hands off on his apron and gestures toward the book. “Have you checked the Solo Killers Appendix yet?”

            Nico sneers. “Of course.” His copy of this book is marked through and through with highlighter lines and scrawled notes.  Of _course_ he’d seen Appendix A.

            Percy grins a little. “So you’ve read about Blanche Moody?”

            Nico thinks for a moment.  He knows he knows a Moody.  He just can’t place what she did. “It rings a bell,” he says, opening up the book and flipping through the pages. “What’d she do?  Refresh my memory.”

            “She poisoned basically every man in her life.  Black widow,” Percy says, admiring the book.  Nico gives him a look that, though lacking a judgmental air, clearly says “why do you, attractive barista, know all of this”.  Percy shrugs a little. “Sorry, my dad’s a cop,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know some weird shit.  Sorry for coming on strong.” He grins sheepishly.

            Nico smiles a little.  The cop thing is a little concerning, but he’ll get over it. “It’s all right.  I just…” He shrugs a little. “I guess I’m sorta surprised somebody else knows about this stuff.”

            Percy grins in a way that, to an onlooker, would make it appear they were talking about cotton candy. “It’s hella interesting, man.  I don’t really see why more people _don’t_ like it.”

            Nico lifts a shoulder.  He understands it.  But he’s not going to let on to that. “Ever heard of Nikolai Dzhumagaliev?”

            “Doeshumaga _what?_ ”

            The boys chat until the couple had left, until Nico’s untouched coffee refill had gone cold, until closing time had passed and until conversation begins dipping into cult killings.  Percy glances at the clock around that time and lets out a little snicker. “God, it’s late.  My boss is gonna kill me if I don’t close up pretty quick.” He grabs Nico’s cup and digs a Sharpie out of his pocket. “I wanna talk with you about this some more, though, okay?” He writes his number along the curve of the cup in neat strokes.  He smiles at Nico in a way that leaves no room for misinterpretation. “Call me when you have the chance.”

            And that’s the story of how Nico’s life began its downward spiral.


	2. A Guide to Texting a Hot Serial Killer Enthusiast Barista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not live by any of the following tactics, as they will not be effective 99.9% of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is LATE. So this is short. :D 
> 
> Pls enjoy Nico being a massive dork.

            Nico’s house is always quiet.  Tonight is no exception. 

He’s curled up on his bed, his daytime clothes strewn across the floor amongst others from earlier that week.  At some point he’ll get around to picking those up, he’s sure of it.

            For now, however, he’s very busy sprawling out on his stomach and releasing an irritated groan.  He stares at the phone in his hands for a few long minutes, the number Percy had written on his cup displayed in the _To:_ line.  He has written and rewritten a text to send to Percy about three dozen times, the current one still prepped to send.

            _Hi, Percy.  It’s Nico, from the coffee shop.  Did I get the number right?_

            He really isn’t sure if he did.  The last four digits sort of scrawled together.  The last thing he wants to do was send some text about serial killers to a perfect stranger, so he figures he should go with something safe.  Impersonal, maybe, but safe.

            He can’t get himself to press “send”, though.  He thinks about Percy, about the sinewy muscle of his arms, bounding up along his shoulders and flexing throughout his neck.  About the effortless perfection in his smile, the smart glimmer in his eyes.  His careless little touches, his choice of words.  His little shrugs.  His single imperfection, an uneven set of dimples.

            God, just _everything_.  Nico won’t lie; he’s pretty intimidated.  He considers himself relatively plain.  Not really unattractive or anything, just…nothing too spectacular.  Not in comparison to Percy, at least.

            He tells himself to stop psyching himself out.  Good advice.  He tells himself Percy is only human as well, even if he is a human who greatly resembles a being of celestial origin, and that humans all get nervous in situations like this.  Good advice.  He also tells himself to add exclamation points at the end of the first sentence.  Not really good advice at all, honestly.

            He recognizes that directly after sending the text and instantly regrets the three marks following the word “Percy”.  He also convinces himself that Percy probably is of celestial origin, as nothing of this dark world could be both so beautiful physically _and_ so talented in the delicate art of coffee.  Which really only makes the exclamation marks seem even more like a glaring error.

            Nico groans.  He stares at the screen of his phone, turning onto his back and kicking up his socked feet on the headboard of his bed.  The pant legs of his sweats pool around his knees as he taps his foot impatiently against the wall.  The tin of music fills the room with a sort of comfort that one could find in human company.  Nico closes his eyes and enjoys it for a moment, setting his phone on his chest.  He hums along to the song for as much as he knows of it and sighs softly. 

            He sets his phone next to the computer playing the music and stands up on his bed.

            His wall could really use refreshing.

            Nico keeps a sort of photo journal on his wall.  Well, that’s what he calls it, at least.  He really just keeps pictures of passersby he finds interesting tacked up all around him.  All candid shots, of course.  He never imposed himself so much as to actually ask for the right to take their picture.  He just snapped them.  Interrupting people’s days wasn’t really his forte.

            Nico has a stack of freshly printed shots on his bedside table.  A little bowl of tacks sit beside it, displaying the tacks like most bowls would candy.

            Nico casts a nervous glance at his phone and, before considering sending another text apologizing for his enthusiasm, grabs a few of the pictures and tacks.  Busy work will keep his mind off the impending boy situation.

            He bites the ends of the tacks, scanning his wall for a good open place for the pictures.  He eventually finds one, putting up a still of a sweet-looking dark haired lady.  A bright red tack holds it in place.  He moves on to do the same with the others, all pictures of people with dark hair, green eyes. 

            Nico sits down on his pillows and pulls his legs close to his chest.  He wishes he knew all about all of these people.  Knew their likes, dislikes.  Fears, secrets.

            He won’t admit it, but he’s incredibly lonely in this big house.  Hazel’s off at some out of state college.  She visits occasionally, but it’s mostly just Nico, sitting at home, surrounded by reminders of his father’s affluence.

            The pictures keep him company.

            About an hour has passed.  In that time, the highly-caffeinated Nico has paced the length of his house about three dozen times.  He’s downed two bowls of ice cream and eaten one whole pomegranate.  He’s tussled his hair into and out of submission about four times.  He’s read up on Antonis Daglis in excruciating detail.

            And still, Percy is yet to respond.

            Nico’s feeling pretty deflated by the time he flicks off the lights and curls up underneath his covers.  The light from his computer screen pools around the side of his bed.  He sighs a little and grabs his phone, double—no, triple—no, _quadruple_ —checking to be sure he hadn’t just missed Percy’s text.

            No such luck.

            Nico sighs and browses the Internet, trying to coax some sort of sleepiness onto his mind.

            Suddenly, Nico’s phone chimes in his hand.  It makes a soft little _bing bing_ noise and vibrates against his palm.  Percy’s name appears on the display.

            Nico feels something in his abdomen either doing flips or giving out.  He tunnels under the covers a little and opens the message.

            _Nico, hey!  Sorry it took me so long to reply!  I just closed up shop over here.  What’s up?_

            Nico’s so excited that Percy even responded that he almost doesn’t notice something.  But almost is the operative word.  As he works out a response to Percy’s message, he thinks about one factual error that a normal person might not have readily noticed.  Or at least not a person who was quite so, uh, invested, would notice.

            Percy had definitely closed up the shop directly after Nico had left.  He was sure of that.  So why would he lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got like a little bit of an idea for this, but tbh it's not great and will probably change a lot. *jazz hands* 
> 
> Now I'm gonna go to BED good NIGHT.


	3. Only the Third Chapter and It's a Filler, We're Off to a Good Start Folks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very little happens because I didn't have time to make anything happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO POST THIS I WAS WITH PEOPLE ALL WEEKEND AND THEY WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE TIL LIKE 5 IN THE MORNING I DIDN'T HAVE TIME SORRY ANyways here ya go 
> 
> This is such a filler chapter I'm so sorry

            Percy steps out of the shower, rubbing a towel against the back of his neck, his hair leaving wet track marks stretching from his cheek to his chin to the dips of his collarbone.  He shakes his hair out, pulling the towel around effortlessly and drying off his chest.  His phone chirps from its place by the sink.

            Percy grins.  He wipes his hand off on his thigh and picks up the phone, typing a quick response to the guy from the coffee shop before examining his nails.  Oh yeah, those needed to be cleaned.

            He’d get to that later.

            For now, he has more important, exciting things to tend to.

 

            It’s four in the morning before Nico falls asleep, drooling on the screen of his phone, entire body curled up beneath the covers save for one rebel foot peeking out over the side of the bed.  He snorts awake at about 10, his phone warm and dead against his cheek, his hair sticking up at every possible angle. 

            Nico shoots upright, his body sore from sleeping in, like, an octagonal position.  He yawns, trying to remember what all happened the evening before.

            He remembers that, around three-thirty, he got a little relaxed with Percy.  He didn’t proofread the texts he sent, didn’t fret over typos.

            He remembers Percy making him laugh like a total dork. 

            He remembers talking about making a time to chat in person some more, but then he dropped off.

            With speed he didn’t know he possessed, Nico plugs his phone in and rushes to the bathroom.  He looks himself over in the mirror, trying to decide if he needs to shower or not.  His hair, luckily, is manageable.  As it is, done in an undercut, it isn’t too difficult to correct.  He runs his hands through his hair, trying to tame it, and looks himself over.  He wishes he could say he needed to shave but, frankly, he’s not sure he’ll ever really need to shave.  His chin has been smooth for all of his years, and he’s convinced that’s not going to change.

            He decides to shower just to give himself something to do while his phone boots up, since iPhones take roughly a year to start functioning again after dying.  The whole time he’s in the shower, he worries.  He can’t remember what he sent last, but he’s pretty sure it was something really lame because he, as a person, is really lame.

            As soon as he’s wrapped up his shower, he trips around his towel as he hurries over to his bed, flopping on top of his ruffled sheets and grabbing his phone.  Yep, there’s an unanswered text from Percy.

            _Yea, I don’t work tomorrow you wanna hang out?  Maybe you could show me around_

            Nico takes a second to remember why he should be showing Percy around and what “around” qualifies as.  He scrolls through a few of his other texts, gleaning quickly that, oh yeah, Percy was relatively new to the area. 

            Nico smiles a little, to himself.  The thought of guiding around a cute guy, well, it’s pretty intoxicating.  He can tell Percy whatever he wants to about the town.  He can lead him wherever, leave out whatever.  He can leave out all the alleys, all the unsafe places shrouded in safe places.  He can paint the place like the utopia it isn’t.  He can take him wherever he wants.

Nico definitely feels up for that.

            He taps out a response, apologizing for falling asleep, and asks when and where they should meet in the case that they were to hang out that day.

            As soon as it’s sent and his butterflies have started up full-gale, Nico hurries to get dressed.  He loves the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.  He always feels like this before doing this.

            He pulls on a pair of dark jeans and a black shirt with a decal on it that read in plain, white letters _SHIRT_.  He grabs a plaid flannel shirt and his phone before heading down to his kitchen for breakfast.

            Percy’s seen his message, but he hasn’t responded yet.  Nico frowns.  That’s always irksome.  He tries not to get worked up about it and leaves his phone on the kitchen counter before peeking in the pantry in the hall.

            Nico lives in a big house.  He comes from an, ah, _prosperous_ familial background.  And that prosperous background has landed his family this excellent home in the Garden District.  Of course, a big house with only one permanent resident is really just a building full of lonely, so, despite the lavish nature of the place, Nico makes excuses to not be there as much as possible.  As introverted as he seems, Nico thrives off of people.  He needs to be around them.  He needs to learn from them, to pick up cues from them, to learn how to interact with them more successfully.

            Socialization is crucial for people like him.

            Nico nibbles at a bowlful of Frosted Flakes and grabs his phone again.

            Percy has gotten back to him.

            _I’m free all day and as for the where well like idk man_

            Nico pauses.  New to the area.  _Right_.

            He purses his lips and sends back:

            _How about st. louis cemetery no 1?  You know where that is?_

            It only takes about a minute for Percy to reply.

            _Oh yea, I know where that is.  It was on the news few days ago_.  

            Nico grins a little.  He knows it was.  He knows damn well it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neeks what do u kno
> 
> Sorry, this story'll pick up more soon now that I'm not like constantly doing stuff. Plus yay there's been some set up, time to start killing people yay


	4. A Sneak Peek to the Freak Show and Obligatory Not Death Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Groans because I can't destroy love yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little graphic here but that's okay with me if it's okay with you <3
> 
> I really love New Orleans. I've had this scene in mind for like half a month.

FOUR MONTHS FROM NOW:

 

            Percy scrubs his face.  He can’t believe what he’s seeing.  There’s so much blood, like, how does something bleed that much?  He releases an adrenaline-riddled breath, his hands trembling.  Oh, God, there’s so much blood…

            It decorates the ornate walls of the house, glimmering in candlelight like some expensive Halloween prop.  It’s splattered on a couch in such a way that it looks artistic.  He feels like it should be a work of art.  _Arterial Spray_ by Sir Ax from Home Depot.

            Percy remembers seeing this sort of thing in the crime scene photos his dad would take home and mull over. 

            He feels short of breath.  He’s never seen anything like this before.

            Equal parts beauty and horror, like a Bosch painting and a Poe poem’s lovechild.

            He didn’t know ribs could bend like that, that they could reach for the sky like that.

            He stomach lurches.

 

BACK TO THE HUNKY-DORY PRESENT:

 

            Percy yawns, strolling up to the wall of St. Louis Cemetery #1 and looking around for the reclusive guy from the coffee shop.  He leans against the wall and soaks up the warmth of the morning, a blissful smile on his face.  He loves this time of day.  Right when the morning was handing the reigns to afternoon, when it was warm but not too warm, before the Louisianan humidity got too bad. 

            This morning was perfect.  The cemetery was neatly wrapped up behind him.  It was taking a few days for it to be opened back up to the public.  Percy thinks back to about three days before, back when the news was screaming about a body being found here.  It would’ve been quite a feat, getting into that cemetery without being noticed.  Planting the body, putting it up as intricately as it was.  It would take somebody with incredible strength and stamina as well as great creativity to form such a scene.

            Not that the news showed too much.  A blush of blood on gravel, the shocked faces of some passersby, a few candles lit for the John Doe’s family. 

            What they didn’t show was the toothless face of the man, the bloody pads of his fingers, the broken slouch of his jaw, the jagged cuts rushing up and along his thighs, the absence of, erm, a relatively important part of the body and the lazy gushes of blood staining hips and thighs because of it. 

            No, all of that was kept off the air.  But it wasn’t kept from Percy.

            His dad’s a cop, after all.

            A few minutes later, while Percy’s still stewing in contemplation, a little bundle of black clothes too heavy for the hot day ahead comes bounding over.  Percy straightens his posture subconsciously, giving Nico his most winning smile and saying, “I was beginning to suspect you’d blown me off.”

            Nico raises his brows a little and plunges his hands into his jeans pockets. “I was contemplating it.  You can’t always trust serial killer enthusiasts, you know.” A little shine comes into his black button eyes. “Sometimes they’re awful unstable.” He grins with the corner of his mouth.

            “Unstable?” Percy gestures to himself grandiosely. “Me?  You’re mistaken.”

            Nico lets the other side of his mouth join in on the smile. “We’ll see about that, I guess.  So.  You wanna do New Orleans?”

            Percy nods. “Hell yeah.  I wanna do New Orleans so hard it’ll be walking funny for a week.”

            Nico thinks for a moment. “Bourbon Street it is.”

            They take off in that direction, Nico leading the way, parting crowds like Moses parted the Dead Sea, his snug little resting bitch face driving all passersby out of his way.  Percy trots along after him, occasionally stumbling over the uneven, pocked brick walkway.  He looks around at everything like it will all vanish if he doesn’t see it this instant.  A swarm of blindingly white tourists pass them by on Segway scooters, listening excitedly as a guide who clearly loathes the day of their birth relays for the millionth time the history of the town to them.  Percy unabashedly waves at some of the Segwayers, receiving nothing but embarrassed looks and angry huffs in return.

            Nico gazes up at the wrought-iron balusters fencing in banisters decorated with overgrown ferns and sun-faded Mardi Gras beads.  He’s always struck by the beauty of this place, even though he’s lived here for years.  The music of an early-morning street performer drifts through the air, filling it with the melancholy of good jazz trumpet.  Somewhere else, further away, a singer bolts out a soulful rendition of _Hallelujah_ by Jeff Buckley, her voice mingling with the conflicting trumpet with a strange sort of peace.  Nico resists the urge to close his eyes a moment, to let all of his senses drink in the morning.  To let his nose get more closely acquainted with the smells of beer and dirt and weed and flowers, to let his skin more thoroughly experience the ham-handed caress of May morning humidity, to let his ears sample the music with so much scrupulousness that he can feel it working through him, affecting him in a way that so few things can affect people.  Taking him away and putting him in a sadder place, in a place where he can feel that cold and broken hallelujah as if it were his own.

            But he can’t do any of that, because Percy breaks the peace by saying, “Is that a _vagina?_ ”

            So he’s noticed one of the many peepshows speckling Bourbon Street.  That was only a matter of time.

            “Yes,” Nico says, glancing the same direction as Percy. “That’s, in fact, three of them.”     

            Pictures of scantily clad or completely unclad women block out the windows of the raunchy little building.  The doorway is dark and pours out the thick scents of pot and booze and something else Nico can’t immediately pinpoint.  He thinks it might be sweat.

            Percy whistles and drags a hand through his hair. “Three whole vaginas.” He starts walking toward the place.

            Nico loops his arm through Percy’s and says, “Whoa there, tiger, this tour’s just started and it doesn’t include a stop at Herpes R Us.”

            “But I’d really like to visit Herpes R Us.”

            “Maybe later.”

            “But—”

            “If you’re good, you can go in there _and_ get some praline.”

            This sounds good to Percy.  Nico’s questioning his reading of Percy’s sexuality for a second, but quickly returns to his original assumption because it takes Percy a little while to unhook their arms.

            Nico leads Percy back onto the sidewalk and sticks his hands back into his pockets. “So,” he says, trying not to get too lost in the atmosphere again, “what brings you to New Orleans?”

            “School,” Percy says, scratching his cheek. “I’m, like, commuting.  Have you lived here long?”

            Nico tries to sort out the nearest college.  He takes his classes online with an out-of-state university, so he’s never really bothered to figure out where any of the local schools are.  He makes a mental note to check that out later and shrugs. “I’ve been here for about seven years, I think.  It’s not a bad place to live.”

            Percy gestures around. “Are you kidding?  It’s gorgeous. ‘Not bad’ is an insulting understatement.”

            Nico raises his brows dully. “I suppose.” Of course, he wholeheartedly agrees, but he’s not about to make himself look soft in front of Percy.  A hard exterior is incredibly important for people like him.

            Percy doesn’t seem to follow the same philosophy.  Along the way, he stops to pet dogs and chat with their owners, tosses change or even full bills into the instrument cases of street musicians and even laments the sad life of the mules pulling tourists around in carriages.

            “It’s just _not fair_ ,” he says, shaking his head. “Like, they’re born, and they’re happy, and then what?  _This?_ ” He gesticulates toward a passing mule.  Its ribs are painfully clear under a malnourished, dull coat.  Flies buzz around its ears.  In its wake, it leaves a ripple of air smelling like feces.

            Nico doesn’t really see what’s so horrible about it.  He shrugs a little, giving Percy a “I don’t get it, but I’m trying to” face. “At least they get plenty of time to walk?” he tries.

            Percy shakes his head. “Yeah, at a really slow pace on a hard concrete street in the heat of the day.” He sighs. “Poor guys.”

            Nico’s overwhelmed by the level of Percy’s empathy.

            Percy sighs. “Nothing we can really do about that, though, huh?”

            Nico shakes his head a little.  They’ve been walking around for a few hours now and are approaching the French Market, strong smells of every sort of Cajun delight drifting to them from the little food court section of the market.  Percy makes a sound that can only be described as enthusiasm in its purest form and grabs Nico’s wrist. “Let’s get some gator on a stick!”

            Nico grins a little and looks down at Percy’s hand.  His warm hand, sun-kissed as the rest of him.  Callused skin.  Dirty nails.

            Wait.  Dirty nails?

            Nico’s got a good memory.  He remembers the cup being set on his table the night before.  Percy’s nails were scrubbed clean then.

            Why’re they so dirty now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the irregular updates, I'm working on like 9 things rn
> 
> Some of the Bourbon Street stuff is based on like personal experience like I was only there for a few minutes but wow did I see things 
> 
> I KNOW IT LOOKS LIKE THERE ARE FACTUAL LAPSES RIGHT NOW BUT TRUST ME THERE ACTUALLY AREN'T IT'LL BE CLEAR LATER OKAY


	5. Yardwork and Dick Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico knows a lot of stuff he shouldn't. Percy does too. They don't tell each other this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to update and I'm v sorry, I'm like working on my actual book right now as well as a few other things so like it's a little difficult to juggle it all. But fear not. Updates should become more frequent starting now. And things should be getting a little more interesting. 
> 
> I reeeeeally don't like how this chapter turned out, but c'est la vie!

            Percy’s exhausted.  It’s been a long, long day.  He’s tired of dragging this thing around.  He’ll be so much happier when it’s in the ground and out of his way.

            He rolls up his sleeves and pulls it toward the shallow hole in the ground.

            He hopes it’s in the right place.  If it isn’t, this might all be for naught.  He pushes it in, hoping against hope that this spot will be perfect.  After all, once it’s in the ground, he can’t change it.  

            Now, Percy’s no gardener, but he assumes trees need a lot of light.  This little one shouldn’t be any exception.  He’s really hoping this patch of ground gets enough sun.

            Aside from being a barista, Percy works part-time as a landscaper.  It gives him a chance to be out in the sun and a chance to actually work his muscles.  Percy’s certain he wouldn’t be doing anything so strenuous behind the counter at Beans.  Another perk to working as a landscaper is that, when people ask where he gets his money from, he doesn’t just have to say “Beans”.

            The guy he met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago hired him to plant some saplings in his front lawn.  Percy gladly accepted, as Nico promised extra pay for reasons he withheld.

            Nico’s kneeling beside him now, a bottle of water in his hands, wheezing from the heat of the day.  There’s a smudge of dirt on the tip of his nose that Percy can’t help but find at least a little cute.  He’s tempted to reach over and clear it away, but thinks it would be too invasive and keeps his hands to himself.

            “N-now what?” Nico pants, dragging a hand through his scruffy undercut.  He picks up Percy’s water bottle and offers it to him.

            Percy takes it thankfully and takes a swig before responding. “Now we drop it in the hole and cover it up, I guess.” He shrugs a little. “I’m new at this.”

            Nico sits back on his haunches. “You’ve p-probably got a better idea than I do.” He scratches at a sunburned-red cheek. “I’ve got, like…a black thumb.”

            Percy raises his brows. “A black thumb?”

            Nico nods. “A black thumb.”

            “That sounds like a health problem.”

            Nico hits his arm playfully. “You know what I mean, Percy.”

            Percy recognizes, vaguely, that he likes the way Nico says his name.  He nudges Nico with his elbow a little, grinning. “I’m sure you’re not as bad with plants as you think,” he says, using that tone that sounds like good-natured eye rolls and hair ruffles.

            Nico shrugs a little and they lapse into silence, piling and packing dirt around the base of the tree, the sounds of the city and the chirping of birds willing to brave the afternoon heat filling the comfortable quiet very nicely.  

A few moments later, as they’re heading inside, Percy breaks the silence.  As he’s wiping his hands on his jeans and kicking off his boots before entering, he says, “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

            Nico glances over his shoulder at him as he pushes open the door, his shoes already in his hands.  Their shoes were way too muddy to touch the lavish wood floors inside.

            Nico studies Percy for a split second.  He tries to make sense of this question.  Is there ulterior motive here?  Is Percy asking just to fill the silence or is he asking because he’s got some intensive follow-up?  Something about the cemetery, maybe?

            Nico hopes not.  He wants to keep the cemetery off his mind.  It doesn’t bring back very many proud memories of late.

            Finally, Nico nods. “Yeah, I’ve been keeping up.  Why?” He heads inside, well aware of Percy silently gawking at the beautiful house as he follows him.

            As soon as Percy has managed to form words, still gazing at a couch probably worth as much as he was, he says, “N-nothing really, just, like.  You dig serial killers and stuff.  Did you hear about the one on around here?”

            Nico heads toward the kitchen, leaving his shoes by the door. “I heard something about him.  Left somebody by St. Louis Cemetery, yeah?” “By”.  Ha.  Nico knows damn well that the body was _in_ the cemetery, laying atop one of the elevated tombs with its chest cut open, sternum a bash of splintered bone, its dick shoved where its heart should’ve been.  But he isn’t about to share that information.

            Percy nods, following Nico into the kitchen. “In it, actually, yeah.  Way dead.  Said this was probably his third murder on the news, so I guess he’s a legit serial killer now.”

            Nico nods a little, grabbing some Italian soda from the fridge.  He allows himself a small smile. “I suppose it does.”

            “Did you hear about the dickheart thing, though?”

            Nico glances at him, plucking two glasses from a cabinet.  Percy’s taken a seat at the island in the middle of the kitchen.  Light flows in from the breakfast nook behind him, illuminating him in citrusy sunshine.  Nico thinks for what must be the thousandth time that he’d love to photograph Percy.  Add his stills to the collection.

            “‘Dick heart’ or ‘dick hard’, you gotta annunciate better.”

            Percy laughs. “‘Dick _heart_ ’.”

            Nico feigns contemplation. “In that case, no, I haven’t heard about it.”

            Percy leans forward a little as Nico pours up some pomegranate soda in two ornate, delicate glasses.  Nico slides one to Percy and takes a seat across from him.  He watches a little bead of sweat at Percy’s hairline and takes a larger sip of his soda than he probably should have because _damn_ he needs something to help him cool down after seeing something as hot as a dirty, sweaty Percy.  Nico thinks absently that that “bow-dow-dow-bowwow- _wowwwww_ ” sort of porno music should probably play whenever Percy enters a room.  After all, it’s probably a sexual taboo to swish your hips that much when you walk.

            Percy puts the cool glass between his hands and says, “Basically, like, whoever did the killing yapped off the guy’s cock and stuck it where his heart should’ve been.”

            Nico wonders how Percy knows this.  He tries to remember if maybe Percy had somehow gone through the pictures on his camera when he last had it with him.  Nico decides quickly that that couldn’t be it.  _Those_ pictures had been printed and deleted by that point.

            “Sounds like somebody was bitter,” Nico says, lifting his glass to his lips again.

            Percy grins and raises his brows a little. “Yeah, no shit.”

            How had Percy known about the dick thing?  Nico hadn’t seen him there.  How had he known?

            Percy takes a swig of his soda and wrinkles his nose. “God, that’s fizzy.  What is this?”

            “Pomegranate,” Nico says, yanking himself out of his thoughts and trying to put up a facade to hide how ill at ease he is.

            Percy smiles a little. “Did you know that pomegranates were symbolic of death in Greek mythology?”

            Nico flicks a little smile. “I did.”

 

            It will be little surprise to anyone to learn that a pomegranate was found beside the next body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUHHH


	6. Nico is Possessive and That's Sorta Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico's naked for a little bit, but that's whatever. Percy neglects responsibilities in order to go on a totally not-date with Nico. Lots of murder mentions. Probably the last peaceful chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've started watching Hannibal, which roughly translates to "I've been getting nothing done". 
> 
> This took like a year to do and I'm so sorry ;u; A lot of stuff has come up in the past few days that demand and deserve a lot of attention, so I haven't had much time to work. Sorry friends ^^'

            Nico lays in bed, exposed to the point of gratuitousness, and flips through his camera roll.  His hair is plastered to his forehead from his shower.  The cool water runs down his face from his hairline, leaving a wet imprint on the pillow beneath his head.

            Nico doesn’t notice.  He keeps going through his pictures.  He can still feel the latex residue on the webbing of his fingers, but he assumes a good scrubbing will take care of that.

            The pictures on his screen vary in severity.  They flip from simple pictures of passersby to pictures of the scene he just left.

            One shot is of something gorgeous he’d seen nearby.  The early morning sun glinting gently off the crinkled exterior of a discarded, half-full Coca-Cola can.  The next is of the face, its jaw deflated, its eyes wide, its mouth gaping and looking like an entire flask of red wine had erupted from its throat.  Rich, dark maroon covers the skin of the throat and the jaw like wood lacquer.

            This one had been alive when it was cut.  It was alive when its throat was torn apart.  The fishing hook caught at the back of the throat and line streaming out from the corner of its mouth were clearly to be held accountable for this mess.

            Nico sighs.  He’d really wanted to touch that face, but to touch the face would be to ruin the perfection of the scene.

            This body was positioned just at the entrance of the French Market, left sprawled right in front of where most people would drift in.  The pomegranate was loosely clasped in the body’s right hand.  Nico had captured a picture of a fly perched on the glimmering, exposed seeds, the purplish fingertips protruding the edges of the photograph.

            Nico wets his lips.

            He stands, putting away his camera and pulling on a pair of boxers, and heads downstairs for breakfast.  The housekeeper will be in today.

 

            Percy yawns awake to the news buzzing at him from the TV.  He guesses he forgot to turn it off before he conked out on the couch.  This is not the first time this has happened and it certainly will not be the last.

            Another vague report on a body found.  No real details.  Just a bunch of words properly strung together to inspire mass hysteria.  The usual for the media.

            Percy yawns and stretches out.  His muscles are so sore.  His head is throbbing.  He’s still exhausted.

            Percy glances over at the pile of work he should be doing.  Every bit of it is college stuff he should probably review before classes start back up.  He internally groans because, as much as he’d like to be prepared, forensics classes are a bitch and studying for them isn’t much better. 

            Instead of actually doing any of the work, he rubs his eyes, scratches his ass and goes to his little kitchenette for some Cinnamon Toast Crunch, which he swears is the worst cereal (serial HA) ever, but is still the only kind he’ll buy.

            He’s got to go meet Nico later.  He checks his watch. 

            He definitely overslept.  He needs to hurry.

 

            Nico watches a cricket on the sidewalk, his camera clasped in his hands tightly.  The cricket’s perched right on a crack outside Café Beignet, seemingly examining a discarded piece of éclair.  Nico squats by it, unaware of passersby casting glances over their shoulders at him, and watches it.  The little thing is awfully fidgety.  Nico wonders how much that bug has been through.  He wonders how many times it’s almost been stepped on, how many times its legs have gotten tugged at, how many times its wings have almost been ripped off its back.  He wonders how strong its tendons are, how much pressure its legs can handle. 

            If he had a cup, he’d catch the thing and try to figure it out for himself.

            But the cricket hops away, up to a wrought iron fence surrounding a magnolia bush, leaving Nico to try to find something else to wonder over until Percy arrives.

            He becomes rather fixated on a little bird perched inside the open-air archway of the coffee shop, snapping its pictures and wondering over the fortitude of those avian bones.

            Percy’s on his way over to chat with him, but gets snagged by a group of girls on his way.  Nico notices this.

            He’s not even slightly pleased.

            Nico, acting purely on impulse, as he’s been doing too often of late, trounces over and loops an arm in Percy’s.  He’s not even sure if Percy sees him in That Way or anything, but he doesn’t care.  His possessiveness is kicking into overdrive.  Nico is on autopilot now.  Impulse is flying him.

            Percy’s glancing down at him to say something, but Nico doesn’t give Percy any time to speak.

            Those girls hadn’t earned the right to flirt with Percy.  But _he_ has.  He’s put time and effort into this relationship.  If Percy didn’t want this—and he knew just how to make Percy want it—he’d have to figure something else out.  But he would get his way.

            Nico’s never really felt a bond like this before.  They might not have known each other for too long, but he feels certain that this was merely the very beginning.  The tip of the iceberg.  He refuses to stall any more than strictly necessary.  Percy needs to hurry along, too.  Nico decides to help him with that.

            In a single, swift motion, Nico pulls Percy’s head down and kisses him hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sociopaths can love with a selfish intensity that puts other love to shame. Their love is a devouring, consuming sort of love. When I love someone, I feel like I want to inhale them -- to literally suck out their soul. When I kiss someone, I try to do just that." --M.E. Thomas, author of "Confessions of a Sociopath: A Life Spent Hiding in Plain Sight". 
> 
> Her exact article on sociopathy and love can be found here: http://www.sociopathworld.com/2009/01/do-sociopaths-love.html


	7. Nico Makes Percy Officially His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico's will cannot be swayed by something as dumb as "potential heterosexuality".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a year to write okay
> 
> Sorry again! Like, I finally found some inspiration for my actual book (it's been sort of stagnant for the past two months) and I've just sort of solely been working on that for most of this week. I'm going to TRY to keep updates coming every three or four days, though. It really just depends. :/
> 
> This is so short and I'm so sorry :'D I've still got to jump around the truth a little, you feel me. And there's only so much jumping that can be feasibly done in one sitting.

            Percy is admittedly taken aback by the whole “being forcibly kissed by a short Italian” thing.  He’s processing his senses’ reactions in cycles.  Hearing comes first.  There’s the muffled, yet very loud, pounding of his heart in his ears, the faraway sound of the girls he’d been talking to moments ago.  Sight is next, though everything’s a little blurred from closeness.  He can smell the faintest, clinging wisps of face wash wafting up from Nico’s skin.  He can feel the steady warmth of Nico, both against his lips and against his chest, where Nico has neatly fitted himself.  Percy can taste Nico’s coffee, his creamer. 

            Nico gives him a soft shove to separate them and looks up at his face with dark eyes that very clearly say “you’re my bitch now, kid”.  But in an affectionate way.

            Nico pats his cheek. “You’re late, you prick.”

            Percy’s just now recognizing that his cheeks are flushed.  Holy _shit_ is he blushing?  Wow, this really is a new level for him.

            Percy clears his throat a little. “Yeah, sorry, I overslept.” He nods to the girls and offers a smile that says “I’m not sure what just happened either, sorry you had to be party to the confusion”.

            Nico unabashedly slides his hand into Percy’s and gives it a squeeze.  He tugs Percy toward the café and, more importantly, away from those girls. “By the way,” Nico says, glancing up at him, “we’re dating now.”

            “Are we?” Percy asks, a grin ghosting across his lips.

            “Yep.”

            “I thought we’d been dating for way longer.”

            Nico cuts a look at him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

            Percy shrugs. “It’s not hard to.”

            Nico grins and elbows him playfully in the ribs.  He spends the rest of what he assumes is a date trying to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean.

 

            “So,” Nico says, after coffee has been had and a beignet has been shared, “since we’re, like, dating and shit now, does this mean I can kiss you whenever I feel like it?”

            “Yeah, man.”

            “Like _whenever?_ ”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “ _Hell yes_.” Nico grins to himself.  He glances at Percy’s sides, to his hands buried in his pockets. “Can I, like, hold your hand too?

            Percy glances at him and tugs his hand out of his pocket. “If you wanna, yeah.”

            Nico doesn’t even try to hide how dorkily he accepts this invitation.

            The two of them walk, hand in hand, back towards Nico’s house.  Molted light sifting in from between magnolia leaves dapples the brick sidewalk in front of them, giving the early afternoon a certain sort of beauty that’s usually only found in movies about plantation owners’ daughters and the chaste nature of courting etiquette.

            Percy and Nico’s topic of conversation varied greatly from the genre of Civil War era romances.

            “Did you see the dead dude on the news?” Percy asks, glancing down at Nico.

            Nico nods, using his free hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Heard about it, yeah.  Just at the Market, too.”

            Percy nods.  Pauses.  How’d Nico know it was at the Market?  The coverage of the body was only playing on the local news station as of yet.  Nationwide news hadn’t picked it up.  All of the facts were given by one station—a station that had excluded the location of the body.

            But Percy plays along.  He hopes Nico can’t feel his palms sweat. “Yep, that’s the one.  I wonder when they’re gonna catch this guy.” He forces his posture to be relaxed.  He makes himself not shoot nervous, even accusatory, looks at Nico.

            Nico shrugs. “He’s good.  Doesn’t leave anything behind.” He pauses.  Smiles. “I assume, at least, or they would’ve caught him by now.”

            Percy nods a little. “I wonder where the dick of this last guy ended up.”

            “In the hand that wasn’t holding the pomegranate.”

            Percy knows for sure now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do u know percy please tell me


	8. Nico Sleeps a Lot and Percy is So Conflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is basically a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dfjkmsdnjJSNDJKJDFNDN 
> 
> Tfw you think you can start writing death stuff but then you recognize you need to add more background and stuff. Sigh.

            Making the decision isn’t easy.  Percy spends a long time stewing on his options.  A few months, even.  This is sort of a big deal.  After all, what he decides here will definitely mark the rest of his life. 

            If he doesn’t, he can keep Nico.  He can try to sway him, to make him see what he sees, to act how he acts.  Nico could be absolutely perfect in no time.  They could be happy.  Nico’s past habits could be paved over.  He could give that life up.  They could just work with one another, creating something new, something uniquely theirs.

            Or.

            Or he could go on ahead and do it.  But that meant no more Nico, no more potential for perfect work created with one another.  No more soft good morning kisses, no more wiry hands in his hair, no more sleepy Italian words whispered against his neck.  No, all of that would be gone.

            But he’d be able to rest easy knowing he’d done the right thing.

            Percy is struggling with all of this as Nico sleeps next to him.  Well, more accurately, _on_ him.  Nico doesn’t understand the concept of “sharing the mattress when sleeping with others”.  If he’s lying on the left side but his foot wants to be on the right side, you best believe nothing’s going to stop that foot from making it to the right side.  His foot’s over there, but hey, his arm wants to join too?  Nothing will stop it.  Percy learned that the hard way after being woken up two or three times thanks to a hand splayed over his face.

            Currently, Nico’s laying on his belly.  The leg closest to Percy’s has entangled itself very thoroughly with him.  An arm is laying across Percy’s chest.  He’s a little scared that Nico’s going to jolt in his sleep and karate-chop his jugular.

            It’s happened before.

            Percy glances over at Nico’s face.  He makes excellent faces while he sleeps, and today is no exception.  His upper lip is pushed away from his teeth, sort of smeared that way by the pillow.  His hair is standing up at angles geometry is yet to touch.  His cheeks are ruddy, giving his face life.  The earliest rays of sunlight seeping through the blinds add little glimmers to the silky, invisible hairs covering his cheek and temple.

            With him laying here like this, the thought of Percy’s “or” was just too much.  The entire idea was ridiculous.  He just needed to keep Nico as he was.  There and with him.  He needed to keep him like that forever.

            Percy looks around the room.  Nico’s walls are completely bare.  They’re pocked with little tack marks, but Percy has never seen a tack actually occupy one of them.  He notices, though, that every time he goes into Nico’s room, some of the holes have widened.  Paint has chipped away from around them, leaving them even more glaringly obvious.  He’s thought of asking Nico about them before, but decided against it.  If Nico were hiding all of this, he didn’t want to pry.  Nico might have a good reason to hide them, after all.

            But still.  Given what he knew about Nico, the tack marks could very well be pictures.  Shots from on the job.  He could’ve covered his walls with them, just to feel glorified in his own work.

            It was very possible, actually. 

            Percy thinks about it as Nico begins to rouse, making little noises as he forces himself to sit up.  Nico scratches at his bare chest, blinking drowsily at the wall. “Wha time s’it?” he slurs, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. 

            Percy smiles a little and checks the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Like, eleven.”

            Nico groans. “ _Shiiit_.  I needed to be up at, like.” He zones out for a full three seconds, drifting in and out of a doze.  Percy wonders if he should support him to ensure he doesn’t topple back onto his pillows. “Like _nine_ ,” he finishes at last, flopping his arms down in exasperation.  Percy notes the lean muscle that’s melted along Nico’s bones like smooth candle wax.  He wonders how strong he is uninhibited.

            Percy props himself up on his elbows. “Why’d you have to be up at nine?” he asks, suddenly recognizing and embracing his intense need to yawn.

            Nico, after some admittedly embarrassing struggle, kicks the sheets off and stands up.  He hurriedly pulls on some boxers and clambers for a pair of jeans. “I had work this morning.”

            Work.  Or, rather, Nico’s intern position with a local journalist. 

            Nico pulls on some clothes that were mostly from yesterday.  They’re convenient to grab mostly because they’re strewn all around the bed.  He pulls on Percy’s flannel overshirt without thinking about it and grabs his camera off his dresser.

            “I gotta go meet with my boss,” Nico says, giving Percy a quick peck on the lips. “See you afterwards?”

            Percy thinks for a minute. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

            Nico grins. “Great.” He gives him another kiss and snatches up his messenger bag before heading downstairs.

            Percy thinks about what he’ll do this evening.  He’s in the mood to create some art with a very unconvential tool.  Maybe Nico would like to be part of his masterpiece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does a really lame twirl like that lady in the "you could go to 5 or 6 stores" video*


	9. STUFF FINALLY GETS MURDERY PRAISE THE LORD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hell YEAH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look who finally wrote
> 
> This isn't long at all but like I think you'll like it :D

            Percy resolves to come over before Nico gets home.  He really wants to surprise him tonight, after all.

            It’s early evening when Percy moseys down the sidewalk to Nico’s house.  The driveway is empty, which soothes the nerves.

            Nico had already entrusted Percy with a key, so getting inside would be no problem.  However, Percy diverts from the front door and instead loops around back.  There’s a small, tasteful toolshed located adjacent to the back of the house.  Percy remembers the code on the lock from when, months ago, he helped Nico plant the sapling.

            He taps in the code and steps inside.

            Right where he remembers it, there’s a hatchet.  Its head gleams in the dull light cast in by the open door. 

            Percy strolls in.

            Somewhere out of sight, cicadas drone the end of summer.  Their buzz fills the air with the same sort of tense, familiar energy as is coursing through Percy.

            The handle of the hatchet is of fine wood.  A rubber grip holds onto Percy’s fingers snugly.  He grins a little.  He’s not accustom to this feeling.  The rush it gives him is enough to inspire shivers of anticipation, exhilaration.  Adrenaline courses through him like white water rapids.  Sweat beads on his forehead.  A smile ghosts over his lips.

            Percy walks toward the house.  He thinks of the Lizzie Borden folk rhyme.

            _Lizzie Borden took an ax_

_And gave her mother forty whacks_

_When she saw what she had done_

_She gave her father forty-one_

            He wonders if he’ll have a rhyme someday, too.

            He heads in through the backdoor.  His plan is to go upstairs, to wait for Nico to get home.  But something catches his eye first.

            The living room.  Something’s moving.

            He steps inside, slowly, his brows drawn down skeptically. 

            Percy’s admittedly taken aback.

            Nico’s standing there, his hair standing at odd, matted angles, something blackish-purplish smeared all over his pale skin.  Nico’s crying.  His shoulders heave, his chest clinches.  But it’s what’s beyond Nico that surprises Percy.

            Percy scrubs his face with one hand.  He can’t believe what he’s seeing.  There’s so much blood, like, how does something bleed that much?  He releases an adrenaline-riddled breath, his hands trembling.  Oh, God, there’s so much blood…

            It decorates the ornate walls of the house, glimmering in candlelight like some expensive Halloween prop.  It’s splattered on a couch in such a way that it looks artistic.  He feels like it should be a work of art.  _Arterial Spray_ by Sir Ax from Home Depot.

            Percy remembers seeing this sort of thing in the crime scene photos his dad would take home and mull over. 

            He feels short of breath.  He’s never seen anything like this before.

            Equal parts beauty and horror, like a Bosch painting and a Poe poem’s lovechild.

            He didn’t know ribs could bend like that, that they could reach for the sky like that.

            He stomach lurches.  He’s filling with excitement.  God, it’s so beautiful.

            Nico turns, glances at him.  There’s the ax in his hand, the handle bloody, the head soaked.  He looks at the hatchet in Percy’s hand, then looks up at his face.  He wipes at his face and says, “God, I f-fucking _knew_ it was you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story's not going to be nearly as long as the zombie one, clearly, but ya know


	10. WOW AUTHOR WOW.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "WOW YOU REALLY DID THAT WOW" - All of you upon reading the first sentence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does a dance because I've lost control of this story*

            “What’s that supposed to mean, you knew it was me?”

            Nico wipes his cheeks and says, “You’re l-loud as hell, I heard you in the back ages ago.” He releases a long sigh and wipes the tears off his face.  He addresses the hatchet loosely gripped in Percy’s hand. “What’re y-you planning on doing with that?”

            Percy rubs the back of his neck. “I was planning on, like.” He sort of gestures toward the hatchet and then vaguely towards Nico. “I was gonna try to scare you.”

            Nico grins. “I guess I s-sorta beat you to that, huh?” He drags a bloody hand across his face, leaving balmy smears on his brow and cheek. “ _Boo_.” Nico laughs a little.  He tugs the hatchet from Percy’s hand and tosses it onto the couch.  The ax from his own hand follows its lead shortly afterwards.  The ex-housekeeper slumps a little when the tools clatter onto the couch with him.  His ribs are cruelly twisted outward.  His eyes are glazed over, his blood is beginning to congeal.  It’s safe to assume he wouldn’t be getting around to dusting the upstairs.

            Percy, hardly shaken, as this isn’t his first crime scene, says, “So, what’d it do?” He gestures toward the body, resting his other hand on his hip.  Personally, he thinks the crime scenes he’d created were much better.  The pizzazz of the one in the cemetery was far superior to this one in execution, but he had to admit that the domestic nature of this scene added a certain kind of beauty to it.  He thinks faux-philosophical thoughts, ones about how, even surrounded by luxury and pomp, our insides are the same, despite social standing and occupation and anything else.  It didn’t matter.  The housekeeper could’ve died anywhere; he could’ve died in an alley, died in the back of a skuzzy bar, died on the top of a pricey restaurant, died in the Jacuzzi of a high-end hotel, and it wouldn’t matter.  Because nothing about _him_ would change. 

            Percy must admit, though, despite his “scholarly” wonderments, that the gentle eggshell color of the walls compliments the red of the housekeeper quite beautifully. 

            Nico regards the housekeeper with a glazed look of wonder and slight boredom.  His voice, soft, says, “I’m really not sure.  I just.” He shrugs. “It needed to go.  It needs to be moved now, I suppose.” He sighs.  Wipes at his face more.

            “Why the waterworks?” Percy asks.  He takes a seat in an armchair, which has mostly been spared arterial splatter.

            Nico grins a little, attempting to get some of the mats out of his hair.  He plops down on the arm of Percy’s chair, kicking his legs into his lap carelessly and leaning against the back. “I had to be prepared if it wasn’t you out there, didn’t I?”

            Percy grants this.  He glances over at the body and says, “We should probably move it.”

            “ _We?_   Is this the next step in our relationship?” Nico plays idly with Percy’s hair. “Moving corpses together?”

            Percy grins. “Depends.  Are you ready to take our relationship to this level?”

            Nico sighs whimsically. “I thought you’d _never ask!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dances more, but further away and slowly towards the nearest exit*


	11. Mildly Steamy Chapter for No Actual Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wooooooooo school's approaching 
> 
> goody
> 
> School might mean even longer times between updates, and for that I'm very sorry. <3
> 
> If you guys like, I'd be willing to post some of my other writing up here so you can, like, see what distracts my attention from this? Like, some of it's already up, but I could post some more just 'cos. It's not great, but that's cool with me if it's cool with you. 
> 
> ANYWAYS THO enjoy the chapter, friends

            Nico nips Percy’s earlobe hard enough to draw blood.  Percy grits his teeth and hisses, his lips tugging up into a smile.  He tries to keep focused on the road as Nico’s fingers knead the inside of his thigh.  All the while, he presses hickeys and definite bite marks onto Percy’s neck, his wet hair licking Percy’s chin. 

            Percy takes a hard left.  The body of the housekeeper slams into the wall of the trunk, causing a dull thud to echo throughout the cab.  None of the occupants mind much.

            “So,” Percy says, pushing his shoulders back a little as Nico’s hand moves north, “how long’ve you known?”

            He feels Nico grin against the tender patch of skin under his ear.  Absentmindedly, Percy thinks how easy it would be for Nico to kill him right now using nothing but jaw strength and a little determination. 

            “Since you came over to plant trees and started blathering about the crime scene,” Nico croons, nipping goosebumps onto Percy’s skin.

            Percy raises a brow, turning off the road and onto a rough path. “That really gave it away, huh?”

            Nico’s smile grows. “Yep.”

            Percy finally flicks on his headlights. “Because nothing gets by you.”

            “Nothing.  Though there’s one detail I’m not sure about.”

            “Mm?  Shoot.”

            “Your dad,” Nico says, leaning back enough to look Percy in the face, “is he actually a cop?”

            Percy nods. “Was, yeah.  He was a damn good cop and a damn bad dad.” Percy shrugs. “Gabe Ugliano.” He wrinkles his nose a little. “Though, I suppose, all legendary killers have to have something that drove them to it.”

            Nico smirks a little. “And your ‘something’ was a cop daddy who just didn’t care for the ‘daddy’ part of his role, hmm?”

            Percy raises his brows a little. “That sounds about right.” He glances over at Nico. “What’s your sob-story?”

            Nico’s hand wanders more. “Well,” he says, rolling his eyes in thought, “I suppose it spurns back to infancy.  Daddy never held me enough, Mommy ignored me when I cried, yada yada, detachment issues, I never played well with other kids, blah blah blah, you get the point.”

            Percy nods. “You’re completely textbook.”

            Nico grins.  Leans in again, starts working at Percy’s collarbone. “So are you, babe.”

           

            After twenty more minutes of driving and thirty-plus of another activity, Nico and Percy stumble out of the truck.  Percy has taken them deep into the woods.  On either side of the road they traveled on are scattered patches of trees and placid marshes.

            As Percy pops the trunk, Nico straightens his shirt. “So,” he says, looking around lazily and jamming his hands into his pockets, “where should we dump it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so short sorry

**Author's Note:**

> *readers groan loudly*


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